


Under One Star Wandering

by Apharine



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apharine/pseuds/Apharine
Summary: Rose is a lot of things to a lot of people.  Mostly, he's just trying to find his way - and Galar's way, too.A collection of Chairman Rose drabbles and some longer multi-part stories.  Drabbles will be a mix of some with canon characters only and some with reader-inserts, and will be a mix of all ratings.  Requests are currently open here and on my Tumblr where I go by the same username.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 30





	1. Spikemuth's Fate (Rose & Piers)

**Author's Note:**

> Had I not been awake, that  
> a child  
> then whispered in the night, humbly  
> of a rose—a little rose asleep  
> in the meadow amid the lupine—of  
> a shooting-star beyond the daystar, keeping  
> at the horizon:  
> kindly, the faint star wanders—  
> and time, perceptibly  
> beyond her breath; time, the edge  
> of its light, a ghost  
> I am within her eyes, and from my hands  
> rendered unable to reach for her, she, too, a ghost.  
> I had loved flowers that faded, these  
> rose petals had I placed  
> gently on her closed eyes, upon her eyelids touched  
> the edge of a cool petal, near  
> until it would be felt cool in time no longer, this  
> under one small star wandering, perhaps  
> awake, this  
> romance of bones kept as relics—after  
> faith and plighted troth has faded—but kept  
> nonetheless, as  
> the scent of rosebuds from the dust.
> 
> \- John Daniel Thieme
> 
> \----
> 
> Request #1 - something,, with rose,,, and piers,,,, ahhhh (anon)

“Piers, I’m sure there must be a way we can come to see eye-to-eye,” Rose says, resisting the urge to fold his arms across his chest and instead resting his hands, folded together, on the steel-gray desk in front of him. 

“Bloody hell,” Piers sighs, leaning back in his chair so only two of its feet are on the ground. Rose feels a tiny twinge of a frown creasing his eyebrows - he doesn’t love being cursed at, and he wishes Piers would approach this a little more maturely - but smooths it back down. “Mate, there’s no way for us to compromise. You want me to move the gym to a Power Spot. There’s no Power Spot in Spikemuth. I’m not leaving my city. It’s that simple.” 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as necessary, Piers,” Rose sighs. “The Galar Pokemon League’s utilization of Power Spots is what allows us to achieve worldwide fame. We have something here in Galar nobody else in the world has. Power Spots and Dynamaxing is an essential part of our brand. We have to unify behind it.” 

“That’s not _my_ brand, though,” Piers grunts. “My brand is strength without gimmicks. I’m the third strongest Trainer in all of Galar, and I don’t Dynamax my Pokemon. Don’t you think that draws people in, people wantin’ to see what’s so great about me and my gym? Don’t you get that my being an individual who goes against the grain is actually part of what makes people want to come to Spikemuth?” 

Rose frowns, sitting back in his chair and dropping his hands from his desk, setting them on the armrests of his very plush leather executive office chair. The fingers of one hand drum a little absently, a little in irritation on one armrest. 

“If all our Gym Leaders acted the way you do - as an individual, setting their own needs above the needs of Galar - we’d have no unity behind the Gym Challenge whatsoever,” Rose says. 

“Everyone else can’t act the way I do, though,” Piers grins, “because they don’t have my talent. Not on the battlefield and not on the stage, either.” 

Right. The stage - which is arguably Piers’ first love, even above and beyond battling. Of course he’s unwilling to move his gym; it’s also his concert venue, and his music is known internationally for being the thing to put Spikemuth on the map. 

Rose begins feeling like he’s fighting a losing battle, which isn’t a feeling Rose is very used to having. It’s almost a little welcome, though, if he’s honest with himself. 

“Look,” Piers says, setting the front two legs of his chair back down on the ground with a thump. “You haven’t been out to my Gym in literally forever. Actually, you haven’t even set foot in Spikemuth as a whole in for-fucking-ever,” he adds, more than a little accusingly. Rose feels the frown in his brow come back. “Come see me battle and put on a concert sometime. I’m sure I can convince you that we don’t need a Power Spot to draw in huge crowds and huge fans. And I’m sure I can show you how badly Spikemuth needs help, too.” 

Rose sucks in a breath. The idea is tempting. 

“Ms. Oleana?” He asks, turning to his Vice President-slash-personal-assistant, who hovers over his right shoulder. “When’s the earliest I could make it out to Spikemuth for Piers?” The man is a pain in the ass, but Rose stands by his earlier words - the two of them need to find a way to compromise. As Chairman, he absolutely can just order the Spikemuth Gym be up and moved. But if he’s honest, he likes Piers - likes his individuality, likes his style, his confidence in himself. 

It reminds him of himself, when he started Macro Cosmos. Except, he thinks, he was quite a bit more…refined. Not that that matters - not really. Talent and skill should always recognize talent and skill where it’s seen, in whatever form it comes in. 

“I’m putting on a show next Saturday, and taking on a round of blokes who want to battle for the fun of it,” Piers offers, looking tentatively hopeful, but still guarded. 

“You have two fundraisers that day and then have to travel 4 hours to prepare for a conference with some Unovan executives,” Oleana informs Rose, scrolling through his calendar on her phone. 

“All right,” Piers breathes, clearly trying to stay patient. “How about the Friday after that?” 

“Opening ceremony of the Gym Challenge,” Oleana quips. 

“Are you not going to that?” Rose asks Piers sharply, but he declines to respond. 

“Tell you what, how ‘bout instead of havin’ me throw dates out there, I just let you tell me when’s the earliest you’re free.” 

Rose is tempted to say that’s what he had originally asked Oleana to do, but he stays quiet. 

“Mr. Rose would be free on a Saturday evening…eight weeks from now,” Oleana says after a few precise swipes. 

“What the fuck,” Piers says flatly. 

“Believe it or not, Piers, it’s not easy being me,” Rose sighs, and for a moment, he feels tired - tired to his very bones, older than he really is. 

“Join the fuckin’ club,” Piers retorts. Rose shakes the tired feeling off at his words; he knows that Piers isn’t going to be one to have much sympathy for him, not when Piers feels as if Spikemuth’s plight is the most important thing in the world. But it’s not; the impending energy crisis is. 

Though it’s not as if Rose can exactly just tell Piers that, though again, he wishes he could. He wishes, for a brief, sharp moment, that he could find sympathy, care, in another human being - any human. 

When the silence stretches on, Piers huffs. 

“Fine, eight weeks from now, Saturday,” he agrees. “Doors are at 7PM. I’ll make sure you have a backstage pass so you can visit the star of the show before and after, if you’re so inclined.” 

“That’s very generous of you, Piers,” Rose is saying, but Piers is already standing from his seat. He turns from Rose with a quick wave of his hand. 

“Later, Chairman, Oleana,” he says, moving towards the elevator. 

Rose sighs and runs one hand along his long curl of hair. 

“Sir?” Oleana is saying. “Shall I put that on your schedule?” 

“Yes, please, Ms. Oleana.”


	2. Baby Fever (Rose loving on his daughter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request from FizzyBubbleTea: Hey saw that Rose headcanons/drabbles are open...(could be headcanons or drabble that's up for you) Rose being a dad loving on his kid when they're a baby :3

Rose is a powerful man. As the top businessman and philanthropist in all of Galar - not to mention, one of its best Trainers - Rose is well-renowned for having a sharp, appraising mind, capable of enormous insight and rapid-fire decision-making. He’s talented in front of a camera and a crowd, silver-tongued with speeches, and capable of putting on a trustworthy, inspiring, affable public persona in virtually all circumstances. 

And yet, for all his capability and genius, he still turns into an absolute pile of mush and goofy, whole-hearted love every time he comes home from work and sees his daughter. 

“Oh, yes, tummy time with Daddy,” he’s saying, smoothing out a blanket on the floor and laying your daughter on her belly on it. She’s just become strong enough to prop herself up and look around in the past couple weeks, and Rose is enamored with this new ability. You sit on the couch, watching the two loves of your life and eating a glorious meal without any needs or demands of your little one impinging on you. Parenthood has been tiring, but Rose has always made sure to give you time to yourself; ever since your daughter’s birth, he’s swept her into his arms as soon as he gets home from work, as if spending any longer amount of time away from her would be overwhelming. “Look - here comes Mr. Skwovet,” Rose hums, laying down on the floor beside your daughter and wiggling a little plushie past her. For some reason, she consistently finds this toy absolutely hilarious. Today is no exception, and she dissolves into giggles, struggling to reach for it. She hasn’t quite mastered the skill of balancing propped on one arm instead of two, though, so Rose has to humor her and bring Mr. Skwovet closer to her. “Hello, how are you today?” He says, putting on a high-pitched, goofy voice and wiggling Mr. Skwovet’s head. Your daughter laughs all the harder, hiccuping with the force of it, and Rose lets out a deep belly laugh just watching her. 

You don’t know if you’ll ever get tired of seeing him with her. Seeing how much he loves her is so amazing. He’d been so worried he would be an absent father, with his work demands eclipsing any ability he would have to establish a relationship with his firstborn - but from what you can see so far, there’s very little concern of that happening. 

“Oh, look!” Rose continues. “It’s our good friend, the Pokeball! Here it comes to catch Mr. Skwovet!” Rose raises a little fabric Pokeball, stuffed full with a crackly material that seems to always catch your daughter’s attention. He squeezes it and makes the material crinkle as the Pokeball slowly descends above Mr. Skwovet. Then, he hides Mr. Skwovet behind his back and leaves only the Pokeball. The laughter bubbling forth from your daughter stops for a moment - this maneuver never fails to elicit a moment of surprise and anticipation - and then resumes immediately as Mr. Skwovet reappears, as if popping out of his Pokeball. “Ta-da!” Rose says, and when your daughter collapses in giggles, her arms literally giving out under her, Rose mimics her, letting his head rest on the floor. She turns to look at him, and his green eyes regard her so kindly, so lovingly, as she keeps on giggling away. The giggles are infectious, and soon Rose is laughing along with her. This, in turn, triggers her to only laugh harder. Even with a mouthful of delicious food, you can’t help but also laugh a little at the scene unfolding before you. Their laughter together is irresistable, and there’s something so precious about seeing Rose - your Rose, your brilliant man, possibly the greatest genius of his entire generation - in this absolutely vulnerable state with a tiny human he loves so dearly. 

Rose’s phone rings abruptly, and he frowns at it, pulling it out of his pocket. Your daughter reaches for the phone with interest, but doesn’t get far, her arms much too short. Rose gives her Mr. Skwovet instead and turns onto his back, scooping her up with one arm and pulling her, still on her belly, onto his chest. She promptly stuffs part of Mr. Skwovet into her mouth, gumming at the toy. “Oh, a video chat from Aunt Ollie!” He chirps to your daughter as he answers the call. “Hello, Oleana. Darling, say hi to Oleana,” he calls, turning the chat to you. You smile and wave. 

“Hi, Oleana,” you chime happily. On the screen, Oleana waves back at you, her expression stoic as ever. 

“Sweetheart, let’s say hi to Aunt Ollie,” he coos, turning the phone to face your daughter. She looks at the screen with big brown eyes, unwilling to let go of her fierce hold on Mr. Skwovet to bother reaching for the device. 

“We’re really going with Aunt Ollie?” Oleana asks. 

“Ollie is a couple syllables less than Oleana,” Rose observes. “But if you object -” 

“It’s fine,” Oleana huffs, though you note she doesn’t really sound put out. 

“Now, Oleana, I know that you know that I have about 25 minutes of uninterrupted family time left, and you can call me anytime after that,” Rose says gently, but with an underlying tone of sternness to his voice. 

“Yes, but -” she begins. 

“Twenty five minutes,” Rose reiterates. A long pause stretches between the two of them. 

”I’ll call you then, sir,” she finally agrees, and Rose waves goodbye and hangs up the call, putting the phone away. You can’t help but feel pride and relief at Rose’s decision - he had handled himself kindly but firmly, making sure his boundaries were respected. You can only imagine how easy it would be for work to slowly impinge on family life - just one call here, a quick email there - but he’s been certain to keep things consistent for all people, even his second in command. 

“I’m proud of you,” you offer, finishing your dinner and setting it aside. “It’s not easy to keep boundaries that clear-cut.” Rose turns to you, giving you a grateful smile, his green eyes sparkling. 

“It’s easy when I have the two most wonderful people I could ever have imagined in my life,” he answers, and you feel your heart flutter. You’re not sure how, but Rose somehow has never lost the ability to give you butterflies. “Care to join us?” He asks, opening one arm to you. You smile and cross the floor to your husband and your daughter, laying down by Rose’s side. He sits up a little and shifts your daughter to make room for your head on his chest. As he moves, the long strand of hair shifts a little, and your daughter reaches for it, giving it a little tug before returning to Mr. Skwovet. “Do you think she’ll have my hair?" Rose asks, curling one arm around you. 

”I’d like it if she did,” you admit. Rose hums, the sound echoing deep in his broad, soft chest. 

“Do you think I could bring her to work someday? Not just to show her off to coworkers, or anything. I’d…just like to spend more time with her,” he explains. 

“Maybe for a couple hours,” you agree. “She has to nap a few times a day still, though.” 

“She loves falling asleep in that baby-wearing thing you bought,” Rose notes, stroking one big hand over her head. She looks so small compared to him. “She fell asleep when I was wearing her a couple days ago, remember? She might fall asleep if I put her in that at Macro Cosmos.” 

“True,” you nod. Rose’s other hand comes up your head, mimicking the hand on his daughter as he strokes your hair lovingly. “But don’t forget, she’ll also have to eat, and be changed, and she might cry. You have an awful lot of meetings most days, and that might make things difficult for you,” you note hesitantly. 

“Oleana can always run them if something comes up,” Rose says brightly. You snort in laughter. You’re not convinced this is his most brilliant idea, but you’re also beginning to suspect you won’t be able to dissuade him, either. Rose leans in to blow a raspberry on your daughter’s forehead, which breaks her down into laughter once again, her adoring eyes staring up at her daddy. 

No, there will be no dissuading him from this idea, you think. He’s far too much in love with this baby of his. And, you admit to yourself, you wouldn’t have it any other way.


	3. Burnout (Overworked Rose/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Request: Hi I love the way you write Rose! Can I request something where Rose has overworked himself and Reader is the one to help him? Bonus points if Reader or Rose or both crush on each other a little! - Anon

Rose had learned to get used to people developing crushes on him. It was only natural, he figured; he was in the prime of his life, touted as one of the geniuses of his time, charming and, he thought, pretty handsome - although he was going a little soft, but that was a concern for another time - and wildly, insanely rich. Women and men alike swooned over him when he went out and about in Galar, begging for his attention. Each Valentines’, he received a veritable mountain of chocolate from employees of Macro Cosmos who thought they had been clever in arranging for their gift to be sent to his desk, often with a personalized, flirtatious note. 

Sometimes, there were downsides to being idolized. It wasn’t uncommon for women or men alike to go to somewhat…embarrassing measures to try to get noticed by him, and often at work. A lot of people thought he valued intelligence, business sense, and a no-nonsense, decisive attitude. Which he did - in a business partner. These weren’t exactly the qualities he sought out in a potential romantic partner, though, or else he would have married dear Oleana long ago. But, for whatever reason, this thought doesn’t seem to occur to any of the lovesick fools who try to grandstand in meetings where he’s present, doing their best to aggressively display all their business sense and intelligence while sending furtive glances his way. Inevitably, and unfortunately, the people who try this only manage to decrease Rose’s opinion of them. 

And so, after several years of this idolization becoming the status quo, with all its ups and mostly its downs, Rose is knocked completely off his feet when he’s the one to actually develop a crush for once. 

“Mr. Rose, sir?” You had said tentatively, touching his forearm gently. He’d fallen sound asleep on his desk, one arm still sprawled out where he had been trying to write something on a piece of paper. You were supposed to have a 1:30 meeting with Mr. Rose to discuss the abnormal energy signal you’d been monitoring. Your close friendship with Oleana is probably the only reason why you’ve been granted an audience with the big boss himself, you know - you’d both been researchers before she was promoted to Vice President and Mr. Rose’s personal secretary, and the two of you had been - and still managed to be - particularly close. You’d helped her develop the world-renowned Dynamax Bands, and had been given significant leeway with your job responsibilities afterwards as a way of saying thanks for all your work - and in the hopes that your apparently brilliant mind would come up with another breakthrough discovery. As close as you were with Ollie, you typically weren’t one to ask for much, so when you texted her asking if she could fit you onto Mr. Rose’s schedule for an in-person meeting about your most recent work, she had been more than willing to oblige. She knew that whatever you had to talk about, it must be big if you were making this kind of request. 

And it was big, you thought. The energy signal you’d discovered and traced moved in a pulsating fashion - almost like the thing creating it was alive. Not at all like the signals of the other Power Spots. You had been accumulating significant amounts of recordings, some clearer than others, and though you knew it sounded at least a little like a conspiracy theory, you thought you might have stumbled upon evidence of Eternatus, the ancient, mythological source of all Dynamax energy in Galar. You know that to walk in and declare to Mr. Rose that you think you’ve found Eternatus, who is so aprocryphal, so obscure, it’s widely questioned to have ever existed at all, is almost as absurd as claiming that Arceus himself came down from the heavens and stood before you. You had expected Mr. Rose to react with skepticism or disbelief. You had even expected to be laughed at, and had told yourself it was possible that your job could be terminated for your foolishness. But you definitely hadn’t expected Mr. Rose, President of Macro Cosmos and Chairman of Galar’s world-renowned Pokemon League, to be napping on the clock, at his own desk. 

It doesn’t seem very much like him, based on everything you’ve heard about him from Oleana. He’s usually a dedicated workaholic, perpetually bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the public, from what you understand. 

You start to worry if he’s all right. 

“Mr. Rose,” you call again, shaking his arm a little more firmly. To your relief, he stirs, groaning quietly. Thank Arceus, you think to yourself, and shake him all the way awake with another call of his name. “Mr. Rose, sir, please wake up,” you plead, and to your relief, he slowly begins to sit up, blinking blearily. 

“Oleana?” He asks, confused. 

“No,” you say, and introduce yourself quickly, adding that you were Oleana’s friend and she had gotten you in for a 1:30 meeting with him. “Ollie is away in Circhester, for the moment,” you remind him. Rose nods slowly. 

“Right,” he says. “Right. My 1:30 meeting. Oleana’s dear friend. Let me see here…” he says, scrambling through a pile of papers. You note that his hand leaves a wet mark on the paper where he touches it, and you frown. When you look at him more closely, he looks…unwell. There are dark bags under his eyes, and his skin looks clammy, like it’s broken out in a cold sweat. His long lock of hair sticks damply to his forehead. 

“Sir?” You say, unable to stop yourself. “Are you feeling all right?” 

Mr. Rose’s green eyes flit up to yours. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“You look like you’re running a fever,” you explain. Mr. Rose holds your gaze unflinchingly, but doesn’t protest, and doesn’t actually answer your question about how he’s feeling. You take these things as a sign that you might be on the right track, and press on. “If you’re not sure if you are, I can feel your forehead. Ollie will kill me if I let you work through an illness - and I’d feel terrible, too,” you admit. 

Rose was used to would-be suitors making up excuses to touch him. But when he looks at you, he sees only genuine concern. 

And he really does feel awfully ill. 

“Go ahead,” he says, lips pressing into a bit of a grimace as he glances away from you. He knows you’ll quickly realize that he’s not just a little tired out or under the weather. He’s raging with fever - he just doesn’t want to admit it, not to himself, and certainly not out loud to you. You’ll insist he rest, and you’ll have Ollie’s authority, even from a distance, to back you up, and there’s still a mountain of work that demands he get it done. 

You stand, trying to lean across Mr. Rose’s desk enough to touch his forehead, but the desk is huge, and you feel awkward. And Mr. Rose isn’t making this any easier for you, leaning back in his chair. 

“I’m going to walk around to your side, Mr. Rose,” you say gently. 

Rose appreciates the warning - he isn’t a fan of people doing things abruptly to begin with, and he’s had more than a couple run-ins with lovesick subordinates trying to get…close with him. He doesn’t protest, instead allowing himself to watch you as you stand and circle around his desk, moving carefully, as though approaching an injured animal. 

He does feel injured - deeply injured. He shouldn’t be here, working himself more than halfway to death, when he’s so ill, but he has to if he’s to keep his company - indeed, all of Galar, really - running. He doesn’t often feel wounded from the injustice of the sacrifices he makes - the precious hours of his life, his health and fitness, his ability to have a romantic relationship - but he does, now, the fever bringing ugly feelings to the surface. 

He wishes there were someone in the world who would understand. Well, he reminds himself, Oleana understands. What he really wants is sympathy, caring. He wants someone who will treat him like a fragile and wonderful creation, someone to protect him from the monster that is Macro Cosmos, the monster of his own design. 

Gently, you peel the lock of damp hair off Mr. Rose’s forehead and replace it with your hand on his skin. You place your hand on your forehead to compare, surprised to find how much hotter than you he felt. 

“Oh, Arceus,” you curse. “You’re burning up. You must feel awful. Mr. Rose, sir, with all due respect, you shouldn’t be working in this state.” 

“That’s all I can afford to do right now, is work,” Rose laughs, a little bitterly. You had a 9 to 5 job - the kind of job that was made possible by his endless efforts. You couldn’t understand the sacrifices he had to make so that thousands of people like you could taste a little stability, and he resents this for a moment. “If you knew how much I have to get done -” 

“When was the last time you slept?” You interrupt him, concern lacing your voice and features. You don’t sound particularly stern, the way Oleana does when she asks this question, and the lack of scolding stops him in his tracks. 

It’s been so long since anyone sounded so gently worried about him. 

“...about 40 hours ago,” Mr. Rose admits, defeated. You draw in a sharp intake of breath - Ollie had complained to you, now and then, of how Mr. Rose would literally work himself into the ground, and how she’d have to make sure he was taken care of, nursed back to health. But you can’t believe that Mr. Rose had done that to himself in her short absence - she was only to be gone four days! 

“When was the last time you ate or drank?” You press, remembering that Ollie had mentioned he would forget to even take a sip of water when on a work bender like this. 

“I ate breakfast yesterday,” Mr. Rose admits to you. “And…I think I had a cup of coffee around midnight last night?” 

“Okay,” you say, mind racing as you move back to your side of the desk. “I have a Fresh Water in my bag - it’s still sealed,” you explain, pulling the bottle out. You twist the top and crack the seal. “See? Here,” you say, handing it to Mr. Rose. “You should drink this, Mr. Rose. Please.” 

Mr. Rose takes it from you with another grimace, but takes a sip. Then, he seems to suddenly realize how thirsty he really is, as he begins downing the bottle in large gulps. 

“Okay,” you repeat, thinking out loud as Mr. Rose drinks. “Ollie isn’t here. We’re going to need to cancel everything on your schedule for the rest of the day. Maybe we should get you to a doctor -” 

“No,” Mr. Rose protests, pausing from guzzling the remainder of the Fresh Water. “I don’t need a doctor. I’ll be fine with some rest at home.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, hoping he’s telling the truth. Mr. Rose meets your gaze, then goes back to finish the rest of the water off. For as exhausted as he is, there’s a steeliness to his gaze, and you’re encouraged to see it. He’s ill, but not completely defeated. 

“All right,” you agree slowly. “We’ll get you home and get some medicine and some food in you, then. Is there someone besides Oleana I should call to help you with this?” You ask, a bit sheepishly. 

“No,” Rose says, shaking his head. “My quarters are one floor down from here. You don’t need to worry - I’ll be okay.” 

“You’re sure?” You ask. 

“Yes,” Mr. Rose nods, then his expression softens unexpectedly. “I’m so sorry you had to find me in this state - I can tell I’ve worried you quite a lot.” Rose feels his heart skip a beat as he says the words. It’s…nice to have someone worry about him and treat him so gently, he considers. 

“Please, don’t worry about me, Mr. Rose,” you insist. “You’re the one who must be feeling awful right now. You poor thing,” you murmur, a little surprised that you’d said that thought out loud. But you continue regardless. “Let’s get you on your way downstairs, okay?” You touch his arm with one hand, taking the now-empty Fresh Water from him with the other. Rose nods wordlessly, not trusting his voice to speak. 

He honestly can’t remember the last time his voice has failed him. 

It must be the fever, he tells himself. 

Rose goes to stand, pushing back his chair and rising to his full height, making sure to adjust his suit a little along the way. He’s counting on his imposing charisma to help him feel back in control of the situation. But a sudden wave of dizziness hits him, followed by a fierce wave of cold clamminess and nausea, and he staggers forward a little, placing one hand on his desk for balance. 

“Mr. Rose!” You exclaim, rushing back around the desk to him. Rose watches you hesitate just a moment before you reach up to touch him, one hand on his chest, the other on his back, as you help him get his bearings. 

“I’m okay,” he says, standing up straight again. You snort your disbelief, but mercifully drop your hands from his body. He’s relieved you don’t linger, don’t take advantage of the moment to grope at him. 

“Nearly passing out when you stand up is hardly okay,” you say, though again, your voice is much more gentle than he was expecting. To your surprise, Mr. Rose only smiles at you, and this time it’s his turn to look a bit sheepish. “Come on,” you say softly, beginning to lead the President of Macro Cosmos to the elevator. 

When he’s in, you hit the button for the floor one level down from you. The ride is short, passed entirely in silence, and the elevator soon opens to a short hallway with a beautiful set of carved wood doors at the end. 

Mr. Rose fumbles in his pocket for a key, finally pulling it out, though he’s too shaky to be able to turn it in the door on his own. You touch your hand to his gently. 

“May I?” You ask. Mr. Rose nods wordlessly, handing the key over to you. You turn it in the lock, and it clicks open. You open the door for Mr. Rose, and inside, you see a glimpse of the most lavish-looking penthouse you’ve ever seen - or imagined - in your life. 

“Do you want me to come in, or will you be okay?” You ask. 

Rose feels his heart flutter again. Arceus, he thinks to himself. How pathetic is it that he’s turned on by the most basic of human decencies - that a woman should ask him what he wants, what he needs, and do so in a gentle and caring manner, without imposing herself on him. He suddenly feels very tired, bone tired, and very lonely. 

“If you could come in, I would appreciate it,” he hears himself say quietly. 

The next thing he knows, you’re folding up his suitcoat gently, draping it over the back of one of the leather chairs in his room and encouraging him to please lie down. 

He doesn’t need any further encouragement; he’s a shivering wreck without his suitcoat. He loosens his tie as he lays down, fingers fighting a little with the complicated Eldritch knot he likes to tie, but he gets it eventually. 

“Let me take that,” you hum, and he gives the red silk to you. You fold it in one hand and then, to his surprise and delight, tuck him in under his covers, pulling the blankets up to his chin. 

“You must have some paracetamol or something here,” you say, setting the tie gently on top of his folded suitcoat. “Can you tell me where you keep your medicine?” 

“In the cabinet in the bathroom,” Rose says, then passes out, no longer able to fight the tremendous wave of sleepiness washing over him. 

When he comes to, you’re nudging his shoulder gently. 

“Mr. Rose,” you call to him. When he opens his eyes, you’ve got two small pills in hand and a glass of fresh water. 

“Just Rose is fine,” he mumbles. He wonders if he’s imagining the tiny smile he thinks he sees on your lips. 

“Please, take these. They’re a fever reducer,” you explain. They look exactly like the ones Oleana had forced him to eat last time…this happened. He snakes one hand out from under the covers, taking the pills from you, then pops them in his mouth, sits up, and takes the glass of water from you, quickly chugging the pills down. “Drink a little more, and I’m going to go see what you have for food. You need to eat,” you insist and leave before he can protest. 

Rose sips at the water, but soon grows tired again, setting it down on his nightstand and resting his head. Before he can fall asleep, though, you’re back in the room. 

“You literally have no food,” you deadpan. 

“I eat out a lot,” Rose replies. Under better circumstances, he’d probably try to make a joke about his waistline, which he knows the media has been criticizing and speculating about recently (Had he gone up another pant size? Was Chairman Rose finally letting himself go?). But he’s too tired to pull the words together, and he doesn’t really want to sound self-deprecating in front of you, anyway. 

“Okay, well, I guess I’m going to have to order some takeaway for you,” you decide. “What kind of food do you like?” 

“Captain’s Table,” he says before passing out again. You grimace at his words - they’re entirely unhelpful. The Captain’s Table is all the way in Hulbury. 

When you look them up on your phone, though, you’re mortified to see that they will deliver to Wyndon - for a fee. A very substantial fee. You groan and pull out your credit card. Hopefully, Ollie will figure out some way to reimburse you for this with Macro Cosmos funds. 

When you get through to the folks at the Captain’s Table, you ask them what, exactly, Chairman Rose enjoyed eating at their facility. The list is long - he’s apparently an aficionado of seafood - but you pick out a few things and place the order, asking for it to be delivered to his penthouse suite in Wyndon. To your relief, your credit card doesn’t get rejected after you give its details over the phone; the meal is very costly, even without the delivery fee. 

It’ll be an estimated 45 minutes, you’re told. Pretty impressive, you suppose, for how far all that food would have to travel. But then, you suppose that exceptions are probably made, orders rushed, to keep someone with status like Mr. - no, wait, you remind yourself, just Rose - happy. 

“Hey,” you murmur, not really sure if you should be back in Rose’s chambers, or if what you’re doing is inappropriate at this point. Maybe you should just leave him alone; he’ll have everything he needs when the food arrives. But you have one last pressing matter to attend to. “Rose.” He stirs again from sleep, blinking dreamily up at you from under the covers, a small smile playing at his lips. 

Arceus. You knew he was stunningly handsome, pretty, even. But you hadn’t imagined that he could look this…cute…while still being so striking at the same time. 

“Hey, I need to cancel the rest of your appointments and meetings for the day,” you remind him. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but how can I get started on doing this?” You wish, for a brief moment, that Ollie were here. She’d know how to handle this. 

But then, you consider, if she were here, you wouldn’t get to help Rose at all. And, in a way, you’re glad to be the one to see this very human - very adorable - side of him right now. It’s selfish of you to think this way, you know. He’d be better off with Ollie here. 

“Front desk lady can probably do it,” Rose murmurs, drawing the covers more snugly around himself. 

“Perfect,” you sigh, relieved. You know the number for the front desk by memory. “Food from the Captain’s Table is coming in about 45 minutes. Is there anything else you need from me, Rose?” It feels odd to call him just Rose - not Chairman Rose, President Rose, Mr. Rose, sir. 

“Stay and make sure that food gets to me,” he mumbles. “I’ll probably sleep through the delivery driver’s knocking.” 

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll stay and get the door.” You turn to go, but Rose calls to you again. 

“Wait,” he pleads. “What was it you wanted to talk about? At our meeting, I mean. I feel terrible for not being able to make it through our meeting. Oleana said it was really important to you.” 

A soft smile pulls at your lips. It’s sweet of him to care. But, at the same time, you can hardly imagine telling a half-delirious Rose about your suspicion that you had identified an energy signature that you thought might be a mythical Pokemon responsible for powering all his beloved Power Spots. 

“You’re hardly in a position to be able to talk business right now, with all due respect,” you say, placing a hand gently on the covers over his shoulder. “I’ll get Ollie to schedule another meeting with you when you’re well again, and we’ll talk then.” “That will probably be for the best,” Rose agrees quietly. You draw your hand away and move to leave and call the front desk lady, but Rose speaks up again. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” 

“Of course, because I’ll have your food,” you dare to tease him. Rose rolls over in bed onto his back to make eye contact with you, though, his dark hair tousled in a rogueishly handsome way that compliments his pretty features. He pushes the covers down a little, and you see that white button-up shirt of his; in this position, it’s straining over his chest, which is broad and has just the right amount of plumpness to it. 

Your heart beats a little faster at the sight. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. 

Rose pauses for a moment, hesitating. But then, why should he hesitate, he asks himself? He shouldn’t feel as if he needs to hold himself back from reaching out to normal, kind women - or men - for affection or romance. He shouldn’t feel as if he somehow doesn’t deserve a normal kind of love, as if the aggressive overtures of colleagues or fans are all he’s worthy of. Just because the rest of his life is so high-powered, that doesn’t mean he can’t allow himself to try to have the one thing he wants - a partner who is kind, and sweet, and a little protective of, and caring towards, him, and otherwise absolutely, completely typical. Not rich. Not fancy. 

Just themselves. 

And if he made you uncomfortable - he could just chalk it up to the fever, and have HR patch things up with you, and he would never, ever bother you again. 

“No, I’m looking forward to seeing you after that, too.” 

You pause, and for a moment, Rose worries through the haze of his fever that he’s offended you, or, worse, frightened you. He had power over you, as your company’s President. Oh, Arceus, what was he doing? 

“Thank you, Rose,” you say, feeling a blush come to your cheeks. It’s clear that he’s not just excited about what you’re planning to talk with him about at your rescheduled meeting - he doesn’t even know what’s on the table for discussion. He wants to see you, specifically. You have no idea why - maybe the fever, you figure; it probably worked like beer goggles, where anything remotely attractive suddenly became very attractive - but you decide to enjoy the moment all the same, knowing it likely won’t ever come again. You respond with more candor than you’d expected yourself to be capable of. “I’m looking forward to seeing you, too.” 

“You’re very sweet, you know,” Rose mumbles, already growing sleepy again. 

Arceus, it’s not fair that he can be this adorable, you think, and let your gaze linger on him for a moment. He turns back onto his side and goes to pull the covers back up around him, but he’s half-asleep and having difficulty with it. You approach him once more, and gently help tuck him back in. He gives a low, contented hum, and you touch his shoulder once before stepping out of his room again. You’re not sure if he’s awake to hear you, but you speak out loud anyway, telling him that you’re going to go call the front desk and make sure his schedule gets cleared for today and tomorrow, too. 

Rose is exhausted and hot and cold and clammy all at once, but electricity courses through his veins nonetheless as he considers how kind you were, and how beautiful, like an angel. It amazes him that everyone thinks he wants someone with business aptitude as his partner, when really, what he’s been craving all these years is someone who will shower him with the kindness and gentleness he can’t find anywhere else in his life. Someone who will be soft and sweet to him, even in his weakest moments. But also, someone who will protect him from his own mistakes with their inner strength. 

He wonders if you can be that person for him.


	4. Spikemuth's Fate (Rose & Piers 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So pretty much as soon as I had finished the first Rose & Piers drabble, I started continuing it but never fleshed it out all the way. Fortunately Ao3 user deathofglitter asked for that section to be continued, so here is a part 2! (hoo boy I'm gonna end up writing a part 3 and maybe 4 to this aren't I...)

It’s not as if Rose _doesn’t_ know Piers’ music. It’s not that he seeks it out on purpose or anything - it’s just that it’s bloody everywhere. He can’t listen to anything other than the classical channel on the radio without hearing the Gym Leader’s voice at some point within a ten minute time span. 

For the next eight weeks, it somehow seems more prevalent than ever. Piers’ new top single is playing over the speakers before he gives a speech at that big fundraiser. His old hits are on in the Corviknight taxi to that meeting with the Unovan executives. Piers is even playing from the PA system at Rose Tower - his own _bloody building_ \- when he walks in the front door after returning home to Wyndon. 

He’s never minded it before, but now, it’s an ever-present reminder of the fact that he was likely going to have another confrontation with Piers soon. A confrontation he was, once again, going to lose. 

His vision for the Galar League, put on indefinite hold because of one very stubborn, very talented man. 

Rose is mildly irritated when he arrives at Spikemuth. He’d traveled alone - Oleana had been happy to stay back in Wyndon and run a couple quarterly meetings with some of Macro Cosmos’ subsidiaries. She didn’t _do_ that kind of music, she’d said. 

Well, neither did he, and he still had to be here, Rose thinks to himself. 

He’s a bit early, so he decides to get some dinner. He wanders the streets, trying not to cringe at the litter everywhere. It’s so unseemly, so…uncivilized. He’d never stand for this in Wyndon - not only is it an eyesore, it’s a bit of a public health concern, given the amount of Trubbish that slouch in the alleyways. 

Judgment aside, there’s this place that does fantastic Alolan-style malasadas that he remembers from however-long-ago it was that he was here last. He eyes the posters graffiti’d on the industrial walls and garage doors of the cities, surprised to see many of them are several years old. They’d probably been up the last time he was here, he thinks. 

When he reaches the building where the malasada shop should be, there’s nothing, just an old, boarded up building that looks like it should be formally condemned if it hasn’t been already. Whatever, he thinks. His memory is probably rusty; he usually had great recall for this kind of thing, but it has been years, and that was only one restaurant. There’s a group of youths hanging out by the building; he’ll ask them, he figures. 

“Pardon me,” he says, interrupting them with a friendly wave and a soft smile. They stare at him in that teenaged way in return. “Could you help me find Big Al’s Malasadas?” 

“Yeah,” one boy says. He’s wearing a lot of black - actually, Rose realizes, they all are. He suddenly feels out of place in his steel-gray suit. “Big Al’s was my dad’s place - I can help you find it. Here’s a hint: you’re standing right in front of it.” 

“Oh, uh - this?” Rose asks, sticking one thumb over his shoulder at the dilapidated old place. 

“Yeah, this,” the boy says, a little savagely. “We went under when you started that lobbying campaign to make sure that the funds that were meant for Spikemuth’s restoration went to your Wyndon project. Hope you got what you wanted, Chairman Rose.” 

The kids around him start booing, pointing thumbs down, and Rose backs up, beginning to feel a little unsafe. That’s ridiculous, he tells himself, these are _children_ , and he has his Pokemon besides - 

But, somehow it doesn’t make him feel much better. 

He scowls at himself, at the teenagers, and turns on his heel and stalks away. He doesn’t like that these punks could make him feel so uncomfortable with himself, with his decisions. 

He finds a street cart selling some gyros instead - they’re greasier than anything Big Al served, clearly cheap, but he skipped lunch for work so he’s starving and these will have to work. He eats them carefully on a rusted metal bench, praying he won’t get any grease on his white shirt or red silk tie. He allows his preoccupation with this to distract him from the way that people stare at him or mutter as they walk by. 

For a brief moment, Rose allows himself to wish that one of them - just one - would be enthused to see him, want an autograph, a picture, anything. It would make things feel more normal. If he’s honest with himself, it would make him feel adored, the way he usually feels, instead of criticized, unwelcome. 

Is it normal to have that deep desire to feel adored, idolized, loved, even, by complete strangers, he wonders? And, for all the attention he gets, why doesn’t he ever feel satisfied? 

Rose pushes the thought out of his mind, aggressively turning over his plan for talking with Piers instead. 

As soon as he’s finished with his food, he makes his way over to Piers’ concert grounds-slash-gym arena. He’s still early, but he’s lost all interest in seeing any of the rest of Spikemuth. To his surprise, Piers is actually out in the makeshift ring, though he’s not battling - he’s cheering on a young girl with short black hair and a pink dress underneath a black jacket. She’s battling a teenager in that same style of all-black, punk clothing that seemed so popular around here. 

“C’mon, Marnie!” Piers shouts. “Don’t back down now!” 

Rose walks the perimeter of the fencing around their excuse for an arena, his attention piqued. How could it not be? He had been a talented Trainer himself, once - back when he still had enough time for such things. He had loved the thrill of the battle when he was a younger man. 

The girl - Marnie - is talented enough, he thinks, as she pulls a completely unexpected move out of her Pokemon. Her opponent staggers through a challenging hit, but she doesn’t lighten up, moving in aggressively for another strike. 

“Piers,” Rose says, moving through an opening in the fencing and walking up to the man as if there wasn’t a battle raging about five feet to his right. A piece of debris goes flying by his head, but he tries not to flinch. It’s important to meet Piers on his own turf, to show that he was a part of the world Piers inhabited, if he’s going to be able to show Piers that his way is the best way. 

“Oh, hey, mate,” Piers says with a wave. “Be with you when Marn’s done.” 

Rose tries to suppress the wave of irritation that washes over him. He’s not used to being made to wait - not anymore. But, he tries to tell himself, at least there’s good entertainment, and he begins watching the battle in earnest. 

The girl named Marnie seems to have hit her stride. Her opponent’s Pokemon faints, and another is sent out, but it’s not long before she steamrolls that one, too. 

Is she a Gym Challenger, Rose wonders? He hopes she’s a Gym Challenger. He tries to recall the Opening Ceremonies in Motostoke just a couple weeks prior; had she been there? There were so many Challengers each year, and though he genuinely values each one of them and tries to spend at least a little time with each Trainer, it’s becoming increasingly difficult with each passing year to remember their faces. Her style would make for good television, though, Rose considers, and if Spikemuth has some skin in the game in the form of a Challenger, the people of the city might start to show some interest in a Dynamax Spot of their own. 

Marnie takes down her opponent’s last Pokemon, recalling her own Pokemon in turn. 

“Thanks for the good fight,” she tells her opponent with a friendly handshake. 

“You, too,” the teen says, a little brusquely, clearly a little uncomfortable being beaten by someone so clearly younger than him. 

“Nice work, Marn,” Piers says, walking up and clapping the girl on the shoulder. “Hey, c’mere, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. Marn, this is Chairman Rose,” he says, guiding the girl over. “Rose, this is my little sister, Marnie.” Rose shakes her small hand gently, and she peers up at him with serious eyes. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Chairman,” she says politely. Arceus, if only Piers could be as well-mannered as his little sister, Rose thinks, his life would be so much easier. 

“Nice to meet you, too, Marnie,” Rose answers, easily falling into his public persona. “It’s a pleasure to meet any Gym Challenger, of course, but it’s especially nice to meet the younger sibling of one of my own Gym Leaders.” He smiles warmly at her, but she doesn’t return it. 

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” she says, still serious. 

“Marn’s gonna be the one to challenge Leon this year,” Piers says proudly. Rose keeps the warm smile plastered on his face. Piers’ little sister is good - there’s no denying that - but he doesn’t know that she’s _that_ good. Not yet, at least. She still has time, though. 

“Well, I wish you the best of luck, and I’ll look forward to seeing you in the Champion Cup,” Rose says. 

“Thank you,” she says, then excuses herself to go take care of her Pokemon. 

“Well, I gotta admit, Chairman, I didn’t know if you were even coming,” Piers says, his tone immediately shifting from proud to a little confrontational. Then, just as abruptly, it warms up a little again. “I’m glad you’re here, though. We’re going to show you a great time at the concert tonight. Have you gotten the chance to see Spikemuth at all yet?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Rose frowns, no longer bothering with his public persona as he recalls how uncomfortable the city - and its citizens - had made him. 

“Unfortunately?” Piers echoes, a frown spreading across his face. “Well, Chairman, you’ll have to forgive us if we’re not exactly up to par with your standards of beauty and grace here in Spikemuth,” he says dryly, beginning to walk backstage. Rose falls into step beside the Gym Leader, resisting the urge to touch his fingers to his forehead in exasperation. “I was hopin’ to show you how badly we need your help myself, but it seems you’ve already seen the gist of it.” 

“I certainly have,” Rose sighs, feeling, once again, bone tired. He wishes he could be the one to be back home in Wyndon while Oleana manages this visit. She’d probably do better with Piers than he was doing so far. 

She wouldn’t have received the brunt end of all the anger of Spikemuth’s citizens throughout the day, either, he considers. 

“Well, I guess all that’s left, then, is to give you the best battles and best show I can, and convince you to invest in me,” Piers is saying. Rose frowns at this. 

“Piers, let me be clear,” he says, setting his hands in his pockets and affixing Piers with a sharp look. “I’m already more than willing to invest in _you_. You’re in an elite level of talent, both as a Trainer and a musician.” Piers ducks his head in a surprisingly shy gesture, and Rose wonders if he’s imagining the blush coloring the Gym Leader’s cheeks. “I’d build you a stadium and concert venue worth millions if you’d let me. You’d play to crowds the size of what they pull in Castelia City in Unova any night you want, and you’d make money hand over fist - for yourself, for Marnie, for me, for the League, and, of course, for Spikemuth.” He lets this last thought sink in. 

“But you won’t actually do any of that in Spikemuth,” Piers says finally, with a heavy sigh. He sits on a stool, and gestures for Rose to have a seat, as well. Rose does. 

“No, because not only does it not fit with the League’s vision, with no Power Spot, but everything that I’ve seen of Spikemuth tells me it’s a dying city and a poor investment,” Rose says honestly. “

That’s my fault,” Piers mumbles. “When I became Gym Leader, things were already on the downswing in Spikemuth. But it’s only gotten worse every year since then, and I’ve been able to do bloody fuckin’ nothin’ to stop it.” He takes a steadying breath. 

“But that’s changin’ tonight. Everythin’ is gonna change for Spikemuth tonight. I’m going to make sure of that.” 

Rose feels, for the first time in a long time, a surge of guilt. Piers had been young when he’d become Gym Leader. How was he supposed to be able to stop the decay of his beloved home town, when great forces were working against him? Great forces like Rose himself, lobbying for his Wyndon project, for example? 

“I thought you would want to get out of here, given how many songs of yours are about getting out of some shitty hometown to make a name for yourself,” Rose says, trying to lighten the mood a little - and, if he’s honest, trying to push his agenda at the same time. 

Piers just shakes his head. 

“I owe it to the people here who have suffered because of me to turn things around for them,” he says passionately. “And besides, that’s just a common theme in punk music, anyway. Doesn’t actually mean that’s how I feel.” After a beat, he adds, “You listen to my music?” 

“I can’t avoid it, Piers, it’s everywhere,” Rose sighs, touching his fingers to his forehead in frustration. This wasn’t relevant. 

“What’s your favorite song of mine?” 

“I don’t know,” Rose sighs. “Probably the one about how hard it is to live up to great expectations.” 

“Huh, that’s fitting,” Piers snorts, and when Rose raises his eyes to the man, he feels _seen_ for a brief moment. He feels, somehow, as though Piers understands how strung out he is, how alone. 

Rose’s throat tightens unexpectedly, and he can’t speak for a moment. 

“I’ll play it for you tonight and give you a shout-out,” Piers says, giving him a shit-eating grin. 

“Thanks,” Rose says dryly, the moment gone just like that. This is just what he needs - for all of Spikemuth to think of him as not only a twat, but an insecure one, at that. 

“You’re gonna see, Rose,” Piers says, standing up. “Spikemuth is really somethin’ special. You’ll see all of the possibilities for you - and for the League - to invest here.” 

Rose bites his tongue. 

As long as there’s no Power Spot, that’s almost certainly not going to happen.


	5. Connaisseuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connaisseuse (f) (plural connaisseuses): feminine equivalent of connaisseur
> 
> AO3 request from FizzyBubbleTea: Mind if I request a fic where Rose if getting really flirty for the reader please! If you could have the reader be a Pokemon Connaisseuse (I don't know how familiar you are with the anime and Gen 5.) and having them working with Oleana (basically evaluating her Pokemon and the bond she has with them) while Rose is being all flirty and embarrassing would be a fun cute thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hokay so I got a little excited on this one and couldn't just write this starting with a session with Oleana (it kept feeling really abrupt when I just jumped in out of the blue?) so I'm turning this into a bit of a multi-part thing? Here's the start anyway! I think more of what the request asked for is coming up in the next part and this is a mix of fluff and some pretty smutty flirting...haha.

You enjoyed your job as a Pokemon Connaisseuse immensely. You’d always wanted to be one, and in a pleasant twist of fate, it turned out you had remarkable talent for the job - so much talent, you’d been able to earn your S-Class rank and achieve global renown as one of the top Connaisseuses in all of Unova. 

Your renown had brought you some really interesting international clients over the years. Things started when you’d been hired by a pair of friends in Johto named Morty and Eusine, one of whom was a Gym Leader and the other, a Legendary Pokemon researcher and expert (and, as it turned out, Suicune aficianado). From there, you’d been hired by more of the Johto Gym Leaders, all interested in getting the same results they’d seen Morty and Eusine achieve. Your popularity soon spread to the Hoenn Gym Leaders, and then to Alola, with a couple Kahunas and Professor Kukui traveling to see what your recommendations for living in harmony with their Pokemon might include. Your career had shifted somewhat unexpectedly from working primarily with individual Trainers to working under contracts with businesses when Silph Co., the largest global manufacturer of Poke Balls, had hired you to evaluate several of their top executives. Then Devon Company had hired you for the same reason. Then you’d been hired by Macro Cosmos in Galar to evaluate several of their higher-level executives, too. 

You’d been flown out to Galar and worked with the CEOs of each of Macro Cosmos’ subsidiary companies, like Macro Cosmos Air, on their partnership with their Pokemon. It was surprising how often this bond reflected the bond these individuals had with their employees, you had noted. Improving one often improved the other. 

Your work for Macro Cosmos had apparently been excellent and produced the results required, because Chairman Rose had reached out to you personally to have you evaluate both him and his Vice President, Oleana. 

“I simply can’t resist the opportunity to have someone as talented and lovely as you work your magic on Oleana and I,” Rose had told you over the phone, his voice warm and a little flirtatious. He was a gorgeous man, you knew - you had met him briefly in person on your first visit - and you were more than a little flustered to hear him call you lovely. “I know you typically do larger business contracts these days, but if you’re concerned at all about the fee for your services, please know I’m willing to pay whatever sum you require.” 

And so you traveled out to Galar again, arriving in Wyndon the evening before your first appointment with Oleana and Chairman Rose. Macro Cosmos was generously putting you up in the Rose of the Rondelands hotel for a second time - while you would have been happy with less-luxurious and less-expensive accommodations, Chairman Rose had insisted, and also insisted on meeting you there. 

“Welcome, welcome,” Rose says, walking towards you, arms outstretched grandiosely. “It is truly a delight to have you back here, my dear,” he says, reaching out to shake your hand. His grip on you is gentle, yet still with some firmness to it - overall, a welcome relief from the many men who would nearly squeeze your hand to death. To your surprise, he raises your hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it with remarkably full, soft lips. His beard and mustache tickle the sensitive skin there before he lowers your hand and lets you go. 

“It’s a delight to be back here, Chairman Rose,” you say fondly in return. You don’t know the man well, but it speaks volumes about his character that he’s been so intent on treating you well on both of your contracts with his company. 

“No need for formalities between us, dear, just call me Rose,” he says warmly, a smile in his green eyes. “Here - let me call you a bellhop to help with this,” he says, taking your luggage from your side. A bellhop is, in fact, already bustling over, pushing a trolley in front of him. Rose hands the luggage off to him, then turns back to you. “You remember my indispensable and brilliant Vice President, Oleana,” Rose says, re-introducing the woman behind him. She steps forward and shakes your hand. 

“A pleasure to see you again,” Oleana says, her voice carrying a little warmth of its own. 

“You as well, Oleana,” you say, giving her a smile and earning a small smile in return from her. Your impression of her has overall been one of a no-nonsense woman dedicated to her work, but you’re happy to see that she has adopted a rather friendly attitude with you. 

“Is this all your luggage?” Rose says, once the bellhop has your two bags loaded on the trolley. 

“Yes,” you agree. Fortunately, you didn’t need too much equipment to be able to do your job well, and with your stay in Galar anticipated to last only a few days, you hadn’t needed to pack very many clothes, either. 

“Excellent! This will be taken up to your room immediately,” Rose beams, and the bellhop bustles off quickly. “Let’s get you checked in and settled into your room as well, hm? We have a busy day tomorrow, after all.” 

“We certainly do,” you agree. The plan, which you’ve sent both Rose and Oleana alike, is to start tomorrow with Oleana’s team, beginning with a field evaluation. From there, you’ll transition into a more controlled environment and ask Oleana to perform various tasks with each of her Pokemon in turn. 

“Was your flight over a good one?” Oleana asks politely as the pair begin to walk you to the entrance of the enormous red brick hotel. 

“Yes,” you agree. “And there were no delays on my connecting flight in Castellia City, which I was very grateful for.” 

“That is excellent,” Rose says, holding the hotel door open for you and Oleana alike. Oleana’s long legs have put her slightly ahead of you, so she enters first. You follow after, giving Rose a grateful smile as you thank him for his politeness. “Of course,” he hums. “Anything to be a gentleman for such a lovely lady.” 

Your heart nearly stops again - there he had gone, calling you lovely for a second time in a row. Was he ordinarily so flirtatious? Or was he, perhaps, a womanizer? 

“It’ll be good for you to have some time to yourself this evening to decompress, though,” Oleana is saying, continuing with your earlier thread of conversation. “Even the best of flights can be a long and draining affair.” 

“Yes,” Rose interjects. “Which is why I’ve reserved the penthouse suite for you. No luxury will be withheld from you - you’ll have a king size bed to stretch out in, a fully-stocked bar and kitchenette en suite, and your own personal hot tub in case you want a good, relaxing soak.” 

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. Even just an average room at Rose of the Rondelands is staggeringly beautiful; you can’t even imagine what the single most expensive room in the whole place must be like. “I had no idea you’d done that. Thank you, Rose.” 

“It’s my pleasure, I can assure you,” Rose hums. 

“Ah, Mr. Chairman!” The man in the lobby whose job it was to welcome guests greets him, bowing deeply. “I see you have your guest with you - and Ms. Oleana, as well! A pleasure to see you all!” He bows again. “No need to go to the front desk - I have your key card right here,” the welcomer explains, handing it over to Mr. Rose. 

“Thank you,” Rose says. “As you probably remember,” he says, turning back to you, “the lifts are just over here. You’ll swipe this card over the scanner in the lift to gain access to the penthouse suite.” He hands you the card and starts to walk over towards the elevators, you and Oleana both in tow. You can’t help but notice how charismatic and captivating he is as he speaks and moves. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

“The pleasure is really mine, as I’ve said,” Rose beams. “I hope you have an excellent night and enjoy your accommodations. If you need anything, please alert the front desk, and if there’s anything they can’t help you with, call me directly,” he instructs you, then, stepping forward, he presses the button to call the lift for you, coming suddenly very close to you. “Including if you’d like a bit of company,” he murmurs lowly enough that Oleana likely can’t hear it. 

Your heart flutters at the implication. 

“Th-thank you,” you stutter. 

The elevator arrives with a chime, and you move to step into it. 

“Take care,” Rose waves in farewell. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Oleana adds with a wave of her own. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, waving and scanning the keycard as Rose had instructed. “Thank you both again.” 

The elevator door slides shut, and you’re suddenly alone as the elevator begins to ferry you up to the top floor.   


* * *

  


Jet lag is a bitch, you think, waking up from a brief nap. You’d enjoyed the hot tub almost immediately upon unpacking, and the soothing effects of the heat had helped your legs, which were sore from being cramped during air travel - though it had also lulled you into being more sleepy than you’d been before. A quick nap had taken care of the problem quite nicely. 

The accommodations Rose has secured for you are really beyond description. Everything is as luxurious as the lobby, with enormous gold statues and expensive paintings, giant plants and oversized, beautiful furniture decorating the room. Of course, that’s not even to mention the entire oak bar stocked with every kind of liquor you’ve ever had in your life, and then some. 

You mull Rose’s words over in your head once again. Should you invite him over, accept his offer? He’s a gorgeous man, handsome and heartbreakingly pretty all at once, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of his lips on the back of your hand. But you can’t help but wonder - is he a womanizer, the kind of man to sleep around due to the opportunities his wealth and looks afford him? 

Who cares, you decide. The man doesn’t have to be a saint for you to want to have a one-night stand with him. 

You grab your phone and open Rose’s contact information. To date, you’d only shared calls with him, and they’d been all about business matters. Your heart hammers a little as you text him. 

_Hey Rose - I wanted to text you to say thank you again for the accommodations at Rose of the Rondelands. This room is beyond amazing - it’s by far the nicest place I’ve ever stayed. The hot tub is a delight, too. But it would all be more enjoyable if I had some company here with me…_

You leave it as open-ended as that, hoping the implication is very clear, but manageable enough that if Rose hadn’t meant what you’d thought he’d meant, he can sidestep the issue. 

A couple minutes later, you get a reply text from Rose - he’s a quick texter, you think to yourself. 

_Glad to hear you’re happy with the suite, my dear. I’m a big fan of the hot tub myself! I would LOVE to come keep you company tonight, but Oleana has just reminded me I have a fundraiser scheduled for the evening until about 9PM._

You can’t help it - your heart sinks a little about being let down by Rose, though he’d managed to retract his offer gently. A second text from Rose comes in soon after. 

_I’m betting you’re jet lagged and need to turn in early tonight, especially if you’re to be at your best tomorrow. But maybe you’d like my company tomorrow night?_

Your breath hitches a little. So he wasn’t trying to let you down. 

_Tomorrow night would be lovely, Rose! Good luck with your telethon fundraiser, and thank you again for the accommodations!_

Rose replies quickly. 

_Thank you for the well-wishes! I’m sure the fundraiser will be a huge success. And excellent, tomorrow night it is! I’m glad you’re so satisfied with the accommodations…hoping to be able to leave you satisfied in other ways, too ;)_

Your heart just about stops at his last line. Was he always this smooth?! You send a reply text, though it feels insignificant compared to what he’d delivered to you. 

_Big, handsome man like you? I’m sure you will <3 _

Rose texts back one last time. 

_Little minx…getting me wound up just before the fundraiser starts ;) I’d better get going or Oleana is going to kill me. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow!_


	6. Connaisseuse, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY getting back around to adding more to this, sorry to everyone who's been waiting but especially FizzyBubbleTea! I, uh...have been distracted by Kabu for the past 2 months...  
> Anyway back to Connaisseuse!MC for Day 2 of her stay in Galar. The original request for this was for it to be cute but it's maybe a little more on the smutty side of things whoops  
> Also mild cw for mention of the somewhat gruesome (yet completely canonical, check Bulbapedia) behaviors that Oleana's team may exhibit in nature. Pokemon can be dark, man.

“Okay, Oleana, who would you like to start with today?” You ask, pulling out your clipboard and trying to keep your focus on the tall woman you were supposed to be analyzing - not the stunning man who keeps smiling coyly at you from behind her. 

“You’re the professional,” Oleana says carefully. “I’ll let you tell me.” You raise your eyes from your clipboard, meeting her even expression with your own. Sometimes, people would say this to test your authority or skill - a telling fact, in itself. But you see no signs of that, here. She’s merely trying to be deferential to you as a Connaisseuse. 

“Actually, Oleana, I’d rather have you select. The order of your selection can be informative to me,” you explain. 

“Ah,” Oleana says, nodding and touching her hand to her chin. “That makes sense. I’m assuming you may expect me to select my favorites first,” she says. 

You’re beginning to suspect that she’s a very analytical person. 

“Not necessarily,” you smile. “People select in all sorts of orders. It’s my job to determine the underlying thread, especially when combined with the bond with their Pokemon.” 

“I see,” Oleana answers, touching her fingertips to a Pokeball. “I would prefer to be transparent with you, to achieve the maximal benefit…so please, allow me to tell you that I’m going to go in the order that I typically use in battle.” 

Scratch your earlier thought - she’s extremely analytical. 

Oleana unleashes a Froslass first, who coos and blinks up at Oleana inquisitively. 

“No, there’s no battle, dear,” Oleana says, answering her Pokemon’s question. “We’re being assessed by a Connaisseuse.” The Froslass chirps curiously in response. 

You write quickly in shorthand, noting that Oleana demonstrated apparent good communication with her Pokemon and understanding of Froslass’ body language. 

“Do you mind if I come see what you’re writing?” Rose asks, still giving you that drop-dead-gorgeous coy smile. 

“As long as you don’t share any of it out loud with Ms. Oleana,” you answer, noting that you have to actually put effort into sounding unflustered by him. “After all, it’s essential that my written observations don’t interfere with the assessment.” 

“Of course,” Rose beams, moving confidently to you. “My lips are sealed,” he adds, making a zipping motion across his mouth and winking at you in the process. Your heart flutters a moment at that, then flutters again as he steps closer, hovering very close over your shoulder. 

But you’re a professional, and you have a job to do - and it’s yours to do exceptionally well, as you always do. 

“Ms. Oleana, if you wouldn’t mind stepping away from your Pokemon, I will first complete a brief assessment of her physical state and emotional reactions with you not immediately available to her. We will then complete a series of tests with you and your Pokemon acting together.” 

Oleana nods, then touches Froslass’ head once and backs off several feet. You move in, offering your hand for the Froslass to smell. She sniffs your hand and then unexpectedly takes it, giving it an very human, bordering on business-like, shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for cooperating with me. I won’t trouble you for long,” you reassure the Pokemon, then smile up at Rose and Oleana. “Actually, I won’t trouble any of you for long. This should go relatively quickly, if all your Pokemon are as friendly as Froslass is,” you laugh. 

“Some are…more friendly than others,” Oleana says, a little reservedly. You’re about to say something to put her at ease - she, like many Trainers, is obviously a little uncomfortable being away from her Pokemon while someone else is so close to them. But whatever train of thought had started to form in your mind, it’s abruptly interrupted when Rose adds, 

“And if your presence is a trouble, then rest assured - you can trouble me, at least, for as long as you’d like.” 

“Oh,” you exclaim, blushing a little, then turn your attention back to the Froslass. “Is he always so sweet?” You ask her playfully, not really expecting an answer. But Froslass trills affirmatively at you, and Rose laughs behind you at the response. 

“Froslass is too kind,” Rose says heartily. “I can assure you, my typical business partners don’t inspire quite as much chivalry from me as a lovely young woman like you does.” 

You’re pretty sure you hear Oleana snort from several feet away. The two of them seem to be extremely close, both as friends and business partners, and Rose had mentioned that Oleana had reminded him of his fundraiser commitment yesterday… 

With all this in mind, you can’t help but wonder if Oleana knows that Rose is trying to bed you. At the least, she must be quite suspicious, by now. 

“Well, I’m flattered,” you say, trying to find the right words to let Rose know you’re open to his advances while avoiding making poor Oleana uncomfortable. You turn back to Froslass quickly, and add, “Now, let’s start by taking a look at you.” After a moment of fishing in your bag, you pull out a tape measure and run it from the top of Froslass’ head to the bottom of her skirts. “You’re a little taller than average for your species,” you note, jotting down her height. “Weight is almost always unstable with Ghost-type Pokemon, so we’ll skip that with you.” You pull out a magnifying glass instead, bringing it up close to the Pokemon’s skin. “Now let’s see here…you’re clearly eating a wonderful diet, because your skin demonstrates the perfect icy crystalline structure for your species. Very challenging to upkeep in a non-native environment,” you add, sending an appreciative nod at Oleana. 

“I personally assess the amino acid content of the protein-rich food she eats regularly,” Oleana explains. “I believe it’s essential to her health that I replicate her natural diet as closely as possible.” 

Assessing amino acid content? Oleana isn’t just any old big business vice president, you realize - she’s a scientist at heart and by training. 

“That’s very impressive, Ms. Oleana,” you tell her encouragingly. 

“Yes, it is,” Rose agrees from behind you. “Especially considering the way Oleana has managed to replicate Froslass’ diet in a remarkably humane manner. After all, Oleana, wasn’t it you who told me once that Froslass’ favorite diet in nature is lost souls and handsome men?” 

“That’s correct,” Oleana agrees. “I’ve faced several challenges with managing Froslass’ diet. For example, Froslass have a habit of freezing their foes solid with their breath, which is precisely negative 58 degrees Fahrenheit.” The Pokemon in front of you blinks up at you with big eyes, and you try very hard not to think about what an uncomfortable fate that would be. Oleana continues, “Once frozen, Froslass appear to prefer to display their victims before consumption.” A brief grimace flits across your face at this particularly morbid fact, but you remind yourself that that was just the way nature could be. Oleana proceeds to drone on, saying something about how Froslass often even enjoy lining their victims up in their caves, which was a real challenge when it came to diet replication. She’s apparently oblivious to your discomfort at her increasingly gruesome facts. 

“Please forgive her,” Rose murmurs behind you, so close to you that you can feel his hot breath grazing your ear. “She doesn’t mean to mean to make you uncomfortable - she’s just very passionate about Pokemon physiology and biology.” 

“That’s all right,” you murmur with a smile. “I am, too - you have to be, in this job.” Rose hums quietly in response, and you turn back to Froslass, checking her skin in a couple other spots. “You know, it’s a good thing she’s domesticated,” you murmur as you work, deciding to take the opportunity of Oleana’s distracted state to flirt back with Rose. “Otherwise, a stunningly handsome man like you would probably considered a delicacy to her.” 

Fuck. That came out weird. 

It’s not helped by the fact that Froslass chirps and nods affirmatively, yet very cutely. Oh, Arceus. 

“A delicacy, hm?” Rose asks with an amused laugh, handling it remarkably well. “I’ve been called a snack before, but I do like the sound of delicacy…” 

“Are any of you even listening to me?” Oleana asks, suddenly irritated. 

“Of course, dear. Froslass venture from their mountain dwellings during blizzards to knock on human homes, hoping to lure out prey who might think they’re helping a traveler in need,” Rose says, reciting her last words effortlessly. This seems to be something that’s occurred several times between them before, but all the same, Rose reminds her gently, “You know I’m always listening to you.” 

“Right,” Oleana says, suddenly abashed. “Thank you, Chairman.” 

The exchange is surprisingly sweet, despite the reminder that the pretty Pokemon before you is a veritable monster. It’s also interesting to note that Oleana dislikes not being heard; you wonder if this has created tension within her team before, and start coming up with a plan to test your theory during the later portion of the evaluation. But in the meanwhile, you continue with your inspection of the Pokemon. 

“Excellent teeth,” you note, lifting one lip carefully. You pull your hand away quickly, already feeling the start of frostbite from her searingly cold breath, and shake the pain away as you go down your checklist. “Clear eyes. And my,” you note, rubbing the two blue gems that sit on top of her head. “You do have large jewels, don’t you?” 

“She’s not the only one,” Rose murmurs into your ear, lowly enough that neither Froslass or Oleana can hear. “But I suppose you’ll be finding out later tonight, won’t you, love?” 

You suck in a breath, feeling heat pooling between your thighs at his words. 

This is going to be a long evaluation, and tonight can’t come quickly enough.


End file.
